Stitched
by Love-Aine
Summary: A request from a friend. SteinXUndertaker. Haha. No as crack-ish as it sounds, I don't think.


Stein sucked on the end of his cigarette, looking at the man before him. The man was a former teacher at the DWMA, but now was in really no position to continue that profession. Not quite yet, at least. The small replica of the statue of liberty jammed into his forehead would prevent work for a while. The man's heartbeat had stopped minutes before, but the doctor could still see his soul flickering in his chest. That was a good thing. It meant Stein still had time to save off the man's death. With a scalpel and a smile, he went to work.

"My, my, isn't this a lovely piece of work? Just exquistite, really," an unfamiliar voice praised a quarter hour later.

Stein spun around, glasses glinting off the light from the bulb above. He had been so involved in his experiement, he hadn't noticed someone walk into his home.

"Who are you?" he asked drolly, lighting another cigarette.

The intruder had grey hair, similar to his own, that hung down past his waist. Certain strands were braided and his bangs covered his eyes. Though his eyes weren't visible, a thick scar ran across his cheek and over his nose. He wore a black suit with matching tie and a black undershirt. A long, grey scarf was wrapped around his neck, looking rather out of place. His nails were long and black, clutching a long sythe. His mouth curved into a long smile as he slipped on a pair of square glasses from his pocket.

"You can just call me the Undertaker," he replied with a dry chuckle. "Though that job 'as been postponed for some time now. I still like the ring to it."

"So," Stein said, turning back to his patient, "what are you doing here?"

"Ooh, lovely," chuckled the Undertaker, tapping a nail on an organ jar atop a shelf. His attention went back to Stein. "Come to collect. Most would be surprised at a stranger popping in like this, they would."

Stein gave a shrug. "Most would be, but I was expecting one of you to show up soon, anyhow." "Know what I am, do you? Reading souls in a good skill mortals 'ave picked up. Now, you know what I'm 'ere for so don't play dumb. I'm sorry for disturbing such talented work, but..." The Undertaker pulled a thick book from his suit, flipping through until coming to a stop. "Right here: Sid Barett. Struck through the frontal lobe with a statue."

"Listen, Lord Death knows all about this already."

"Can't do much. 'E's on the list."

Stein sighed and wiped his forehead with a bloody sleeve. Sid was almost done; his skin was even taking on a healthy blue tone. It wasn't the time to be interrupted by some strange grim reaper. If he slipped up now, Sid would be lost forever. When he looked up at the Undertaker through splattered glasses, the long-haired man was admiring more jars and urns around the laboratory.

"Can't leave without at least something," the reaper said absently. "I 'ad left this job for something a bit more glamorous in the past, but I've 'ad to fill some dues lately. I'm sure if I was compensated some'ow, I could let this slide for now."

"Compensated, hm?" Stein cranked the screw in his head and leaned back against a work table. His voice was slightly muffled with the cigarette between his teeth. He crossed his arms. "Listen, I've already had the okay from Lord Death, so..."

In a moment, a sythe was pressed to Stein's neck and the Undertaker was inches from his face with a sadistic grin. Stein blew a breath of smoke free. "The book makes the rules. 'Is soul is to be collected." The edge of the sythe pressed harder, then was released. "Though a compromise could be made, yes it could. I like your work. Per'aps if you were willing to trade a few souls for that one..."

"If I were?" Stein inquired, disinterested. He slipped around the Undertaker and picked up a heated piece of iron to close Sid's wound. The flesh sizzled. "I don't think there's much in it for me."

"Well, you can keep your little experiment. And your own soul. Even you stand no chance against a great reaper."

"And you stand no chance against Lord Death." The Undertaker cackled. "'E may be my superior, but 'e 'olds no leash on me. I'll be back in a year. Keep up the good work."

With no other explanation, the Undertaker left Stein with his experiment. The doctor was quite perturbed at being put off-pace, but promptly shook it off. What a strange grim reaper. As he shot his wavelength into Sid, he resolved to see Lord Death about the matter in the morning.


End file.
